THE BONE KEY by Sarah Monette
Prime Books, 2011, 277 pages, 978-1-60701-290-0, Paperback, $14.95

Genre: Paranormal/Supernatural/Fantasy

We all have troubled relationships with authors whom we have read faithfully for a long time. On the one hand, they show us dizzying heights of joy and make us fall in love with their writing again and again. They pull us along from one book to the next, turning us into their greatest supporters and most avid fans. And yet, on the other hand, this devotion can be crippling because, for every new book we pick up, there is the agonizing question of whether or not our faith will be rewarded this time around. Looking at the unopened cover in a sort of panic, we ask ourselves, Will the prose style be the same? Will there be a character who seems real to me? Will I still be in love after this?

It pleases me to report that my latest foray into the works of Sarah Monette, an author who’s been one my favorites since I was midway through her excellent Melusine, did not disappoint on any of these counts, and my love remains firmly intact.

The Bone Key is a collection of short stories that focus on Kyle Murchison Booth, a museum researcher and reluctant medium, and the paranormal events that plague him at every turn. The structure of this book is one of the best things going for it. Chronicling Booth’s supernatural trials in a series of short stories rather than as one long narrative gives Monette a lot of room to play with horror tropes—everything from the haunted house to the demonic possession. It also gives each episode extra power because the format allows Monette to go straight into the stories that she wants to tell without having to worry about connecting them to an overarching plot. She gets the chance to hit a lot of different story types, and she makes each one deliciously disquieting in its own way.

Continuing in this vein, what I like the best about the format is how much fun all of it is. There is a playfulness to The Bone Key’s divided structure that I find really appealing. In some ways, it feels like reading a love letter to the writers Monette dedicated the book to, M.R. James and H.P. Lovecraft, picking up on the frights of their works and touched by a similar old-timey charm. Playing Spot the Reference is a blast for me, but I also appreciate the way references are woven into the stories so that anyone who cares to notice can see them, yet they are not obtrusive to anyone who isn’t inclined towards allusions.

Of course, none of these things would matter if Booth weren’t a central character capable of supporting so many genre-heavy stories. Without his very human presence, The Bone Key would be a well-written but emotionally hollow send up of horror fiction’s past. For the scares to have maximum impact, the reader has to have someone they can connect with in the path of danger. Booth is great, both as an audience avatar and as a protagonist in his own right. He’s a man of few words (but not in the John Wayne sense) whose crippling sense of self-doubt and social awkwardness is felt across all of his stories. He may not be a hero to everyone’s taste, and I’ll admit that in the first story or two he can seem like a collection of quirks more than a person, but one of the most satisfying aspects of The Bone Key is following Booth from situation to situation and enjoying the gradual way that Monette reveals more about him and his backstory. By the time I met some of his shady relatives in “The Bone Key,” I was more concerned about how it would affect Booth than I was frightened of the relatives themselves, and let me just say, they were creepy.

The Bone Key is another book that’s sure to find its way onto my shelf of particular favorites. It’s not only a good way to pass some time, but it’s a good way to get a crash course in horror history, and an even better way to get to know a touching, outstanding character. And, I guess I should add, to get the heebie-jeebies.

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RIDE THE MOON, edited by M.L.D. Curelas
Tyche Books, 2012, 230 pages, 978-0987824806, E-book, $6.99

Genre: Fantasy

This first anthology released by the recently launched Canadian small press Tyche books compiles a wide range of genres under the theme of the Moon. From traditional fantasy, to myth and magic, to science fiction, this collection of short stories will surely hold something for everyone.

The majority of the authors in this anthology were new to me, and that made reading it very exciting. The selection of stories is well curated and each provides a new, sometimes unexpected, take on the theme of the moon. Whether it’s a person, a setting, a monster, or a concept, each writer presents his or her own lunar ideas in creative, entertaining ways with writing that is enjoyable to read.

As with any anthology, some stories are stronger than others. Deciding which is which, however, will rely fairly heavily on taste. My two favorite stories by far were “With the Sun and the Moon in His Eyes” by A. Merc Rustad and “On the Labrador Shore, She Waits” by Krista D. Ball. These stories were emotional and intensely moving, driven heavily by the characters and their feelings of love and betrayal. Without a doubt, I’d love to read other works by the these authors in the future.

Of course, there are many other notable stories in the anthology as well. “Husks” by Isabella Drzemczewska Hodson stands out as being dark, unusual, and affecting, and “Sunset at the Sea of Fertility” by Tony Noland is a fascinating science fiction story of catastrophe and human choice.

Ride the Moon is a good title to try for quality material over multiple genres. It’s a promising first release from Tyche Books, and I look forward to seeing what they bring to the table in the future.
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Thank you to Tyche Books for providing a review copy of this book.

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THE DEATH OF TORBERTA TURCHIN by Shannon Mawhiney
CreateSpace, 2011, 208 pages, 978-1460937907, Paperback, $12,99

Genre: Paranormal

Torberta Turchin, Torby for short, is a fourteen-year old girl who can hear ghosts. That ability has landed her at St. Christopher’s Academy—a half boarding school, half sanitarium—where she is one of the longest term residents. When Torby isn’t dreading visits to her borderline-abusive adoptive family, she splits her time between her two living friends, Rueben and Yvonne, and her dead friend, Charlie. Before long, however, sinister events begin taking place, threatening not only Torby’s school-cum-haven, but her life as well.

Torby’s most important relationship is with Charlie. He’s been with Torby ever since she can remember, and it’s through his explanations that the reader gains an understanding of the rules Mawhiney has defined for ghost-human interactions. Generally, the only people who can see and speak with ghosts are those who have died and then come back to life (think of someone getting defibrillated after their heart has stopped beating), but Torby’s a special case; she’s never died, so she can’t see ghosts, but, for reasons unknown, she was born with the ability to hear them. Mawhiney’s clear-cut parameters are a definite asset to the story. When an author picks a set of rules and sticks with them, particularly in paranormal scenarios, it makes the world internally consistent and believable.

Another strength of Mawhiney’s is her depiction of atmosphere. No matter where the characters are, the creepiness is evident. St. Christopher’s has such presence that it’s almost like another character. In a way, it is reminiscent of Bloor’s Academy in The Children of the Red King series, where you’re waiting for the floor boards to up and start eating people. I like that this sense of dread carries itself over to the house of Torby’s hostile family, the Henricksons. It gives consistency to the novel’s tone, making it clear that just because the heroine is away from school doesn’t mean she is out of danger.

Although The Death of Torbert Turchin is not a light book, it does a good job of keeping away from teen angst overload. A lot of awful things happen to Torby, but only once does she succumb to her depressive urges. While I found her a little tiresome during that chapter, I concede that her behavior makes sense in the context of the story. Mawhiney manages Torby well otherwise, and she creates a character who is not perfect, but who is more engaging and realistic for it.

This goes for the auxiliary characters as well. When the antagonists turn villainous, their changes are rooted in aspects of who they are, so it doesn’t seem forced or outlandish. One of them wants to transition out of ghosthood so badly that it has eroded his sanity, and the other behaves with the same incredible selfishness that he has exhibited throughout the story.

But while their misdeeds are in keeping with their personalities, Mawhiney doesn’t soften the depth of the antagonists’ crimes. Much like it has clear-cut rules about ghostly contact, Mawhiney’s world doesn’t waste time pretending that actions don’t have consequences. It is these consequences that had the greatest impact for me; up until the very shocking end, I was waiting for the event that was sure to wrap up all of the conflicts with a neat bow. After I got over my surprise, it was refreshing to realize that the author was willing to take her work to grim places.

Though I have to say, despite the nearly overwhelming presence of death in the novel, I found it surprisingly hopeful. This is probably due to the fact that I am really into unconsummated, slightly ambiguous romance (patron saint of doomed ships right here). I loved the dynamic between Charlie and Torby. He’s mature, kind, and protective without being overbearing, and she clearly adores him, choosing his company over her own desire to appear “normal.” Even when Torby doesn’t treat Charlie well, he takes it in stride and waits for her to realize her mistakes, which, to her credit, she typically does pretty quickly.

Especially charming is how Charlie’s a twenty-year-old guy, give or take eighty years, but he’s still as chivalrous as the day is long. In one stand out scene, he won’t go into the girl’s bathroom, going so far as to send a lady ghost in for him. I love that Mawhiney includes character beats like this. Not only does it make her writing more nuanced, but it also lends some levity to a novel dealing with subject matter that could easily veer into melodramatic territory.

If you’re looking to enter into the world of self-published titles, The Death of Torberta Turchin is an excellent place to start. The characters are endearing and believable, the atmosphere is deliciously dark, and everything comes together well, governed by cohesive internal logic.

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Thank you to Shannon Mawhiney for providing a review copy of this novel.

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The Metalmark Contract by David Batchelor
Black Rose Writing, 2011, 248 pages, 978-1612960111, Paperback, $16.95

Genre: Science Fiction

As a wise man once said, “You can’t always get what you want.” David Batchelor’s The Metalmark Contract reminds us of that truism. When Metalmark, a mercantile extraterrestrial with goods to trade, makes contact with Earth, the planet is forced to cope with all of the unknown factors an alien life form would present. Batchelor’s rendition of an exhausted theme, however, leaves the reader with a disappointing experience most often found in the taste of cheesy nachos and the smell of BO from that last B-rated sci-fi flick at the dollar theater. Not unenjoyable by any means, just in need of some serious spit, elbow grease, and a roll of toilet paper.

The source of the cheese and BO is Batchelor’s writing and its attempt at the delicate craft of storytelling and character development. Indeed, the best thing for the prose might be another draft and a stern editor. The reader is assailed with ill-timed and random fragments of plot as it is disgorged from Batchelor’s pen, headless of the flow, the nuance, or the suspense of story crafting. As close as can be told, the alien Metalmark strikes a trading deal with the United Nations and must, with his ragtag group of newfound friends, survive a Jihadist attack and the United States government in order to blow up the planet Mercury so he can spawn. Readers will be lucky to keep their heads in the face of Batchelor’s onslaught, much less have a clear idea of where the novel is going.

One unintended consequence of the novel’s rapid-fire approach is that one never has a chance to develop an emotional response to the book. Readers might find themselves unable to feel empathy or care for any of the novel’s many characters. For instance, we never really know who to root for. As the pages turn, a series of inconclusive candidates for the role of protagonist are presented only to be abruptly withdrawn. Is the alien Metalmark our protagonist? How about the UN official, the charming astronomer, or the beautiful Chinese astronaut? Each potential protagonist is given such cursory attention that it’s difficult to even remember their names after finishing the novel. The same problem is had in the search for an antagonist. The random group of Jihadists, the big bad US government, and even the novel’s namesake are, at some point, presented as possible villains. While playing hard to get can be as effective as any ploy to tantalize the reader, The Metalmark Contract only infuriates.

Yet we still go to the B-rated sci-fi flick and, gluttons for punishment, eat the nachos. Despite the book’s seemingly insurmountable deficiencies, the reader can’t quite make the decision to put the thing down and move on to more palatable dishes; underneath all the cheese, there is something that still offers interest. One thing that Batchelor is successful in is his description of the logistics involved in an intelligent extraterrestrial visiting our nick of the stars. What would our guest eat? How would politics and culture react? Would our cosmic guest be radioactive? The abrasively unpolished style of writing, however, makes Batchelor’s interesting answers to these logistical questions only slightly easier on the way down than the rest of the novel.

Though the book is in need of some red ink and a rewrite in the worst kind of way, David Batchelor’s The Metalmark Contract is not without its redeeming qualities. With the aforementioned remedies, Batchelor’s book could make it out of the dollar theater one day. It might even become the succulent feast we all wanted in the first place. Until then, pass the nachos, please.

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Thank you to David Batchelor for providing a review copy of this novel.

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